Mormon Ponderings and the Such
by bandogurl
Summary: morton has a crush on his widowed mormon neighbor... her mom doesn't like it... how will things turn out?
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own any SW characters or related items. So there! But keep your grimy hands off of Kelly and her peeps!! *growls*  
  
Mormon Ponderings and the Such...  
  
Kelly stared at him in disbelief. She examined him carefully. His longish light brown hair with blonde highlights. His entrancing brown eyes behind his new, smaller glasses. His newly acquired braces. His hair was well groomed and he was decked out in new clothes. She couldn't find any trace of falsehood in his face. "You're kidding me, right?" she asked, laughing. She noted he was holding up her checkout line.  
  
"No," he said, then repeated his question.  
  
Kelly was still shocked. "Um... Can you come back at six? You're holding up the line."  
  
"Oh, sure," he said and, smiling, left.  
  
At six, Kelly finished her shift and locked up just as he walked up. "Hey," he said. "How's it going?"  
  
"Fine," she said, pocketing her keys and pulling on her coat "About what you asked me—"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What was it again? Busy day, y'know, stuff leaves the memory bank," Kelly said as they walked down the street.  
  
He sighed and said, "I wanted to know if you would like to go out sometime."  
  
"Oh, yeah... Y'know, Morton, I'm not sure if I'll have the time," she said, as they reached her black Jeep. "I'll give you a call, though. All right?" Kelly got into her Jeep and drove away as fast as she could without looking back. Oh, ye gods! She thought, turning into her driveway. The man murdered his ex-wife!  
  
"How could he expect me to date him when I know that?" she thought aloud, tossing her coat and purse onto the couch. "I thought he was smarter than that!"  
  
The red light of her answering machine was blinking. Kelly pressed the play button and busied herself with the fridge. As she dug around for a bottle of water, she heard her mother's voice sound in the kitchen, "Kelly, it's your mother. I really wish you'd come back to Utah instead of living out there by yourself in Maine. I mean, how safe can it be? What, with that crazy man killing everyone? Kelly, please come back to Utah." Click.  
  
Kelly found her water and chugged it, thinking. Now she was definitely staying at Tashmore Lake, living down the road from Morton Rainey. Especially since her mother asked her to go back to Mormon central. She loved the people of her church, but sometimes too much of them is a bad thing.  
  
It wasn't that she fell away from the church when her husband died. It was she sometimes had to work on Sundays and without her daughter around to get her going to meetings when she didn't have to work, it was getting harder and harder to go. Kelly went upstairs after erasing her mother's message and flopped into her large armchair. She had a nice, small ward in Maine, but it was nothing like the one she and her husband went to in California. That one made hers in Maine down right puny. Kelly just found it easier to go to meetings when she had someone to go with...  
  
Absently, she picked up her scriptures and opened to Proverbs where she had left off. Without really looking for any answers to any questions she had, she began reading. Hours passed by as she read the words of Solomon.  
  
The ringing doorbell jarred her out of the passages about vile women that she found amusing to no end. Placing her quad on the side table, she hurried to answer the door. It was Morton. "Oh, hello, Mort," she said. "Did you forget something?"  
  
"No, not really..." he said quietly, not actually looking at her properly.  
  
Kelly ran a hand through her bouncy red hair. "Then what is it?" she asked, wanting to get back to her reading.  
  
He held out a manuscript. "Just thought you might wanna read it since you're a publisher and everything. Here. Return it when you're done." Thrusting the manuscript into her hand, he left without another word.  
  
"Hm," Kelly murmured as she closed the door. She read the title:  
  
Diary of his FallenAngel  
  
By: Morton Rainey  
  
"Sounds interesting," she muttered, returning to her big, comfy armchair. She turned to the first page and read:  
  
Chapter One:  
  
The year was 1881. The day, 23 September. I was nearing my twenty-sixth year, when Ryan Fehr strolled into town.  
  
The night before, a major fire destroyed around half of our federal buildings. Naturally, everyone blamed me, and sent me about my duties as Town Disaster Manager. Which meant I was in charge of cleaning up.  
  
Of course, this was purely improper for a lady to do, but then, no on in Tombstone, Arizona ever considered me a lady. I never fit the description. Accustomed to attend the Birdcage Theatre unaccompanied in the evenings, then spending the rest of the night dealing poker at The Oriental Saloon for Milt, I was looked down upon by the other 'ladies' of town. The men never gave me a second glance. I was greatly ignored by the rest of the silver mining town.  
  
Wonderful. Another Saturday morning ruined because I had to go and 'cause' a giant fire in the middle of the bank last night, I thought bitterly as I swept the ashes from what remained of the half stone, half wooden Town Hall.  
  
"Oh, Cassidy, darling, be a dear and stay out of town next weekend. It's my daughter's wedding, and frankly, m'dear, I don't want any fires turning her big day into ashes and soot," Mrs. Kirkwood said to me as she passed by, not bothering herself with a 'how do you do.' She simply smiled at me, using my last name if it were my first, then going on her merry way, side-stepping the smoldering piles of burned wood that were at one point our federal buildings.  
  
Wonderful. I was just asked to skip town when my cousin is getting married. She asked me to be the Maid of Honor, too! Funny her name is Kirkwood, now that I think about it. Mayhap a fire will burn Mrs. Kirkwood's house instead of her Kate's wedding, I thought, looking up at the beautiful stonework of the once marvelous building.  
  
"Cassidy, get your head outta the clouds, girl, and take a gander at what's commin' our way!" Keely, my fifteen-year-old sister said, pointing to an extremely handsome stranger, who was indeed headed in our direction.  
  
"Keely, it's impolite to point. Besides, he only looks like he's walking over to us. Why would he? Get back to work, goose," I said, using my long-time nickname for the oftentimes-silly girl.  
  
"Ain't he a sure purdy sight for sore eyes? An' mine're sore from watching you burn down most of the town last night," she said, returning to her task of scrubbing down the soot- blackened walls. "Honestly, girl, what possessed you t' start it, anyway? Were you mad about summat?"  
  
"Keely Ailill Cassidy! What have I told you time and again? I never cause these mishaps. They just happen."  
  
"Yeah, only when you're around. It's like you're a bad talisman, or summat, Cassidy. It's kinda scary. Makin' me and th' other girls a might afraid, if you know what I mean," Keely drawled. She had just read Mark Twain's The Adventures of Tom Sawyer for the first time last week and had become obsessed with the novel I had recommended her. Now, I regretted the decision of having her read it, for she had begun to adapt the slang language of the young boy after whom the book was titled.  
  
"Now, Keely, be fair—"  
  
"Miss Cassidy didn't mean any harm if it truly is she who is at fault, Miss Keely, I'm sure," a gorgeous tenor voice said behind me as I saw my younger sister's eyes grow wide.  
  
I turned and saw the handsome stranger that Keely had pointed out standing in the doorway of the ruined Town Hall.  
  
Slightly bowing in respect for the man, I said, "I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've met before."  
  
"No, we have not. For I'm sure I would remember such a lovely young lady such as you," he said, bowing in return. "My name is Ryan Fehr. If I'm not very much mistaken, yours are indeed Cassidy and Keely?"  
  
"Actually, 'er name's Eilis Ciara Cassidy. But everyone calls 'er Cassidy. She 'ates it though," Keely said, eagerly pumping Ryan Fehr's outstretched hand.  
  
"Eilis Ciara Cassidy? That's a right pretty name if never I heard one, Miss Cassidy. What would you prefer me call you?" he said, smiling at me.  
  
I at once felt my heart fill with suspicion. That's one of my problems; I can tell right away if I don't particularly care for someone. Ryan Fehr, as polite as he was, was someone I didn't like. He was too polite. It bothered me. "Eilis is fine. I don't really mind being called anything but, 'hey, witch, move.' Other than that, you can decide for yourself," I said, politely holding out my hand for him to shake, as was common for the men in Tombstone and generally everywhere in Arizona. I found this true in the town I had lived in California for a number of years.  
  
Rather than shake my hand as he did my sister's, Ryan Fehr took it and kissed just behind my knuckles like the gentlemen used to do when they were really gentlemen, not the scrap piles I was accustomed to seeing around town—you know the type: boorish, dependent slobs, also known as the Cowboys. And, rather than drop my hand as quickly as possible, as everyone was prone to do, for fear they would catch my so-called "curse", Ryan Fehr caressed it gently, causing me to blush a furious crimson color. This was a result of my being offended he would take such liberties with me. Most gentlemen would never dare do this to a girl who already had another man after her. Of course, no one actually knew he was after me. My father did, but that's an entirely other story to be told at a later date.  
  
"Eilis, would you mind accompanying me for dinner this evening? I'm new in town and I'd rather enjoy your company and judgment on the restaurants here. Or saloons, whichever you prefer," he said, his dark blue eyes looking deep into my forest green.  
  
Go out to dinner with him? Is he mad? Does he know who's already claimed me for his own? I thought wildly as my sister voiced what other townsfolk would prefer never to hear, "I dunno if you wanna do that, Mr. Fehr. Cassidy, well, she's got a curse on 'er summat terrible. Last night, for example, she set this 'alf of town ablaze with fire! Looky 'ere what it did! All 'round us, the results of Cassidy's curse. She's 'ad it since before I can remember."  
  
I looked at her with fire in my eyes, but Ryan Fehr's own pair seemed to hypnotize me, strangely enough. I'm not one to be held under a spell very easily, and this irritated me. "It was just the three buildings on these somewhat empty lots here," I said, evenly.  
  
"It looks like 'alf the town, Cassidy!  
  
"A curse, you say, Miss Keely? Are you the expert on your sister's condemnation, then? If you are, I'd love to hear more about it," Fehr said, tenderly letting go of my hand, and turning to the girl who insisted on using such horrible grammar.  
  
Finally! He let go of me. I was beginning to feel like a hound that's under leash, I thought. And how did he know we were sisters?  
  
Keely silently (thank the Saints) shook her magnificent head of long honey brown hair that was currently pinned up and away from her face.  
  
"All right then—"How dare he take that tone with my sister? I thought angrily. It was all I could do from balling up my fists and letting him have it. Keely and I didn't have a very good relationship, another story to be told at another time, but she was my younger sister and it infuriated me when men took advantage of her fifteen year old innocence. "Miss Eilis? Is six o'clock a decent time for dinner?" Fehr asked, returning his impenetrable gaze to me.  
  
"That sounds fine."  
  
"I'll pick you up at your house—"  
  
"Why don't we meet there? 'Twouldn't take as much time," I offered, trying to spare myself at least a few more minutes of this ass's company.  
  
"A beautiful young lady shouldn't be walking around town alone at night," he countered, a flame sparking in his eyes.  
  
"I can handle myself, thank you very much."  
  
"It's true, she can," Keely interjected in my defense. I knew she could tell I didn't like him.  
  
"I will not permit it. What would your father say?" Fehr asked us both.  
  
"I don't know. I haven't spoken to him since I was eighteen," I said, feeling tears of grief welling up in my eyes. Damn my connection with my father, I thought bitterly.  
  
"Why on earth not?"  
  
"He was killed in Burnet, Texas, but we don't know by whom," I said, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to betray my grief. If there was one thing I didn't want this man to see, it was my compassionate side.  
  
"Well, she knows, she just won't tell us, Mr. Fehr. She's hiding it for some reason," Keely peered curiously at me, hoping I would reveal who the murder was. Let her wallow in her curiosity. After all, mother knows and doesn't want her two precious daughters to find out because he's frequently in town, I thought.  
  
"Fine, but Miss Eilis, I refuse to let you wander this town alone. What with the Cowboys running amok, who knows what could happen to you. Your address, please?" Fehr asked, or rather demanded.  
  
I reluctantly gave it. Thankfully, I was able to hide my reluctance to giving my house numbers to a compete stranger. This is more dangerous than walking around Tombstone at night. At least I know where to avoid, but now... Now, this jackass knows where I live, I thought as Fehr wrote the numbers on a strip of paper and returning it to his pocket. Before he left, Fehr leaned towards me and kissed me on my right cheek, causing my anger to rise violently. Smiling at Keely, he took his leave. Watching his retreat, I gripped my broom so hard, it almost broke in my grasp.  
  
"Cassidy, your gonna 'urt 'im tonight. You know that, don't you? Whether it be you curse, or just your manner, 'e's gonna be sorry he took you out to dinner," Keely warned me.  
  
"Oh, Keely! You're just jealous!"  
  
"Jealous of you? What're you talkin' about, Cassidy? I can see it in your eyes. You don't like 'im one bit."  
  
"You're right. I don't."  
  
Kelly was startled out of her reading when her black and white tomcat, Bump jumped onto her lap and decided he wanted to cuddle. "Bump, I don't have time for this now. Mr. Rainey was kind enough to give me work. Go on, scat!" She gently pushed him to the floor and stood. Deciding she would finish reading the manuscript later that evening when she could think clearly (i.e., after midnight), Kelly pulled on a sweatshirt and left the house in search of the solitude of the serene trails and paths around her cabin.  
  
Once out in the biting chill of the autumn air, Kelly took a deep breath and savored the scent of the locals starting their backyard fire pit gatherings. She jammed her hands into her pockets and wandered down towards the lake. The trail there was a rock strewn one. There was an area where she had to do a little bit of rock climbing to get past, but she didn't mind it. The end reward was worth the trouble in her opinion.  
  
After twenty minutes of hiking, Kelly reached the lakeside at twilight, wishing she had brought her digital camera and flashlight. Sighing, she took off her socks and shoes and sat on the sandy shore, watching the last of the boats dock. She laid down in the sand and thought about her late husband.  
  
Scot had been your typical Mormon boy who went on his mission, then moved back to the district he served in. Kelly had finished schooling by then and had moved to Arizona to try living someplace she could afford. She and Scot met at a single adult conference/dance thing. They were taken with each other immediately. There was something about Scot that Kelly loved, but couldn't quite identify. He was taller with white blond hair, blue eyes and a gorgeous smile. Maybe it was that smile of his she fell in love with. He had the personality of a six year old with a brand new toy. There was never a dull day when he was still alive.  
  
A single, silent tear rolled down Kelly's face. Scot had died of emphysema. His father wasn't a member of the church and he smoked heavily in the house and around Scot even though his mother pleaded with him not to. Scot had suffered second-hand smoke, in reality much more dangerous since it's unfiltered, and lived the last ten years of his shortened life coughing up what little good lung tissue he had left. Kelly felt so alone when he had finally passed on to a better place.  
  
For a while, it was just Kelly and her four-year-old daughter, Ashley. Ashley had a younger brother, too, but Kelly lost him to SIDS when he was a year and a half old. Kelly raised Ashley completely on her own. When Ashley was eight years old, they moved to Utah for a while so Ashley's grandpa could baptize her a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter- Day Saints. A few months afterwards, Kelly took her daughter to Maine where they remained ever since. Until, the fateful day three months after Ashley's sixteenth birthday.  
  
Ashley had been out driving with her boyfriend when a drunk idiot swerved into their lane. There was no place for Josh to turn or go. The two vehicles met in a head-on collision. Ashley was killed on impact. Josh broke his neck and later, died in the hospital. Kelly didn't much care about the idiot who killed her only surviving child.  
  
Ashley was so beautiful. Kelly always felt she looked more like Scot than she did her. She had Scot's bright, blue eyes and the charming smile. But she also had Kelly's thick, red hair and ability to tan easily and avoid sunburns. Kelly wanted to curse the man for killing her baby. There was nothing she wanted more than her family back.  
  
Kelly had been seven months on her own when Morton asked her on a date. She didn't think she was ready to start dating again, though... That, and everyone in town believed—or thought the knew—that he had killed Tom Greenleaf, Greg Carstairs, his ex, Amy, and her lover, Ted. Kelly's mother even thought that it was Morton who killed Ashley. Kelly never paid her notion ay attention since she was prone to jump to conclusions.  
  
"How's the sand?"  
  
Kelly opened her eyes to find Morton Rainey standing over her, a small smile on his face. He had brought a flashlight. "Perfect. Y'know, I don't remember it being this dark when I came down here. I must've fallen asleep," she said.  
  
"You come down everyday at twilight; of course it's gonna be darker."  
  
"Gotcha." She stood and brushed the sand from her clothes. With skill from so much practice, she managed to shake out her socks and put them on followed by her shoes without sitting down again. When she was done, she smiled at Morton and turned to leave.  
  
"Wait! Do you want me to walk you so you don't have to walk in the dark?" he asked, catching up with her.  
  
Kelly was taken aback. First by his knowledge that she took this walk everyday, then by his offer to escort her home. She thought it was really sweet of him and she was beginning to think she'd start dating him just to spite her mother. No, she thought. That's just mean on my part. He doesn't deserve that. "Sure. Thanks."  
  
"No problem."  
  
They walked in silence until they were at the fork in the path that led to their houses. To get home, Kelly would have to take the left. But Morton would have to take the right. "I guess this is where we part ways, then?" she asked.  
  
Morton shrugged, seeming to not want her to leave. "I guess... Did you read it?"  
  
"Hm? Oh! I read some of it before Bump started jumping on me," she answered. "I like it so far. You haven't ever written from a woman's perspective before. Have you?"  
  
"Uh, no. Just thought I'd try something new."  
  
"Well, I like it. I'll read some more and talk to you tomorrow, all right?"  
  
"Sure. Good night."  
  
"Good night."  
  
And so they parted ways. Kelly to the left, Morton to the right. Once home, Kelly collapsed on her large bed and began reading again. Around when midnight struck, she carefully placed the manuscript in her desk drawer and turned out the light. As always, she took her shower in complete darkness; it helped her think.  
  
One of the benefits of living alone is you can talk to yourself without people thinking you've lost your mind, "He seems really nice even though say he's a horrible murderer. I never actually saw him kill anybody and I'm his closest neighbor... Dunno. Maybe it's just Dave making him a scapegoat because he's too lazy to actually find out who really did it... I might go out with him a couple of times if he asks again... Sure. Mom deserves to have grief for asking me to go back to Utah again."  
  
~*~  
  
The next morning, Kelly woke up, feeling the sun shining warmly on her face and smelling the enticing cent of bacon cooking. Groggily, she pulled a sweater over her boxer and tank top pajama ensemble and tied her uncombed hair into a messy braid and went downstairs to see who was in her kitchen. Yawning, she entered the kitchen and found Mort Rainey at the stove, making breakfast. Kelly leaned against the doorframe and said, "I don't believe I permitted this breakfast, Mr. Rainey. Explain yourself. How did you get in?"  
  
Mort walked over to her and handed her a plate of bacon and eggs. "The key in your flower pot. Orange or apple?" He headed over to the fridge, waiting for her answer.  
  
"Orange, please," she said, taking her place at the table. "Why'd you go to all the trouble? I usually just have a bagel or an apple."  
  
Morton poured a glass of orange juice for her. "Can't I do something neighborly for my only neighbor?" he asked.  
  
"What happened to the Hammonds? Did they move?"  
  
"Couple of weeks ago, yeah... Well? Is it against the law for me to make you breakfast every once in a while?" Morton leaned against the counter and started eating his own bacon and eggs. He looked at her expectantly.  
  
Kelly swallowed and said, "No... I was just surprised to find you I my kitchen. That's all."  
  
They finished eating in comfortable silence. As Kelly cleaned up the dishes, Morton asked, "Do you have to go to work today?"  
  
She glanced at the calendar. "No. Why?" She started the dishwasher then made her way to the stairs. He mumbled something. "Sorry?"  
  
He cleared his throat and said, "I wanted to know if you wanted to do something."  
  
Kelly stopped halfway up the stairs, her hand on the seemingly randomly placed door to her right. She turned and looked down at him. "I'm sorry, Morton, but I have a lot to do today. Maybe tonight, okay? Thank you for breakfast; it was the best I've had in a while!" she said, then disappeared upstairs to change. As she shut the bedroom door, she distinctly heard Morton mutter, "Why do I get the feeling you'd rather not be around me?"  
  
Kelly changed into her jeans and black t-shirt reading "Elen sila lumann' omentielvo" in white script on the front with a single silver star on the back, by the bottom. Once she was decent and after she brushed her hair out of the knots and snares, Kelly flew down the stairs and out the front door, calling, "Morton!" Kicking herself mentally for thinking he'd still be in her yard, Kelly started running to his cabin.  
  
When she passed by the tree house she and Ashley built the first summer they were at Tashmore Lake, she heard Morton call, "If you're looking for me, you needn't run so far, Mrs. Dryden."  
  
Kelly slid to a stop and looked up at him. "What're you doing up there?" she asked, grabbing the ladder and starting her ascent.  
  
"Oh, you know, the usual: Sitting, breathing, digesting breakfast, thinking how cute you look climbing up like you used to do," he said as she neared him. Kelly ignored the last as she pulled herself into the tree house and sat next to him. "Nice shirt. Care to share what it means?" She shook her head and waited. "So why have you sought me out in this tree house you yourself so frequently occupy?"  
  
"Well, first off, I'm wondering why you're in my tree house to begin with," Kelly said, a smile playing at her lips. A cloud blew away from the morning sun, letting pure celestial light shine upon her. The light created a sort of a halo around her, shining brilliantly off her fiery red hair. The green of her eyes shone through radiantly, giving them an immortal look. With the small smile playing games with her, she looked almost heavenly sitting among the green branches of the tree house. "But the main reason is I wanted to talk to you about something."  
  
Morton nodded. "Did you know that you look like an angel right now?"  
  
Kelly opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, a confused look on her face. "Darn it! You made me forget what I was going to say! And I do not look like an angel right now!"  
  
Morton was serious, though. "No, you do. You really do. With the sunlight shinning on you this way—in this perfect way, you really do. The color of your hair and eyes really stand out against your surroundings and skin. That smile doesn't hurt, either," he said, lightly touching her cheek.  
  
"Morton, I'm trying to be serious for once in my life."  
  
"And I am serious, Kelly. You look spectacular."  
  
Kelly felt her cheeks flush. She was beginning to feel like a high school girl who was finally getting the attention from the guys she needed. "Morton, I'm sorry if I appear to be avoiding you. It's just... What they're saying about you in town at the diner and what people have told me—warning me, really—about being your neighbor may mean my life really has discouraged me from extending our friendship from mere acquaintances. I'm sorry, but we didn't really know each other very well before the whole 'Shooter' episode happened. If we did, maybe I'd be a little more inclined to trust you enough to be around you more often," she said telling him the stars' honest truth. "I'm really sorry, but that's how I feel about it. I don't mean to be rude or anything, believe me. That's the last thing I want. You just kinda scare me a little. That's all."  
  
He seemed to be contemplating what she said. After a few seconds, he said, "So, if I didn't scare you, you would be more willing to open our lines of communication?"  
  
Kelly nodded, feeling her high school giddiness disappear. Here was an extremely handsome man, sitting in her tree house of all places, telling her she looked angelic, trying to make a relationship work. The sight was not one she would see in a long while, but she didn't feel pressed to savor it. There were rumors flying through town about him and she didn't know if she should trust him or the rumors.  
  
Before Kelly could do anything, he left, nodding a farewell. She didn't call after him as she did before, but leaned against the tree and thought of a way to make up the grievance she gave him...  
  
That evening, while Morton was out taking a walk, Kelly snuck into his cabin and did the only thing a single Mormon woman could do: she made him dinner. They had perfect timing, too. Morton walked in just as Kelly set the table ignoring the word, "Shooter" carved into the beautiful cherrywood table.  
  
He walked into the kitchen, looked around, slightly surprised to find the corn cleared away and stacked, ad asked, "Where did you come from?"  
  
"Well, I'm your neighbor, but I was born in Salt Lake," she said, dishing up a plate of homemade ravioli. "Now sit. This ravioli won't eat itself."  
  
Morton did as she bade and ate while Kelly started cleaning up the mess of a house. The first thing she did was dump all the age-old leftovers down the drain and run the disposal before putting their containers in the dishwasher. She was glad she organized the corn when she did since she didn't think she would've been able to do after examining the fridge. Morton was done eating by the time Kelly was done with the fridge. Without really saying a word, she moved onto the living room and did what she could until Morton stopped her, holding two steaming mugs. "It's all right. Cider." Kelly smiled and accepted the offer before sitting on the couch with him.  
  
She noted an odd feature of the worn couch. "Nice groove you have there. I take it you sleep better on the couch than in your own bed?" she asked, smiling in amusement.  
  
"Welcome to the World-Famous Mort Rainey Sofa, also known as The Couch of the Comatose Writer," he declared proudly. "And, yes, I do sleep better here."  
  
Kelly laughed and nearly spilled her cider. "How typical of an author," she mused, sipping her warm drink, grateful that he honored the fact that she didn't drink coffee or tea even though he had an abundance of both.  
  
Mort chuckled and asked, "Well? What's typical of a publisher? I noticed you've spent a lot of time in that charming tree house of yours."  
  
She thought about it, holding her mug with both hands. "I suppose—at least for me—that the typical publisher falls into the habit of reading after midnight. And..."  
  
Morton saw there were tears glistening her emerald eyes. "And?" he pressed gently.  
  
Kelly wiped her eyes and said, "Once they feel alone, or really are alone, they become used to it and sometimes never again wish for companionship... I'm sorry; I didn't mean—" She was crying openly and place her mug of cider on the coffee table.  
  
Mort set down his own drink and gently pulled her into a warm, strong hug. Kelly sobbed quietly into his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him, closing the embrace. They sat there, in each other's arms, for a few minutes. Morton laid his head on hers and noticed her hair smelled presently of apples; he liked it. Kelly, after her crying ceased, still held onto him and took in the enticing scent of the shaving cream he had used that morning.  
  
When Kelly pulled away from him, she found that she didn't really want to. This sudden feeling of reluctance startled her. She didn't think she was ready to get into another relationship yet, even though she had been widowed for nearly thirteen years by then. "Thank you," she whispered, drying her eyes.  
  
Morton looked at her seriously and said quietly, "If you ever need anything, let me know. All right?"  
  
She rubbed her eyes, nodded and muttered, "Yeah, sure." When she lowered her hands, she realized how close she and Morton were sitting. A pleasantly warm feeling swept over Kelly and she felt a guilty shiver of pleasure in his presence shoot down her spine.  
  
He noticed her tremor and asked, "What is it?"  
  
Kelly found herself on the edge of tears and again as she said, "I think I've been alone for so long and I've gotten so used to it, that..." She sighed and buried her face in her hands.  
  
Morton pulled her into his arms and held her, savoring the warmth animating from her and the ease he felt holding her. Running his fingers through her silky hair, he said, "You've gotten so used to being alone that you're afraid, aren't you?" She nodded. He loosened his grip on her, lifted her chin and murmured, "You shouldn't be afraid, Kelly. It's high time you start anew..."  
  
He slowly leaned in towards her. Kelly hesitated, slightly pulling back. "Don't be afraid. I'm not gonna hurt you. I swear it..." he said even more quietly. Then, without her hesitation, Morton pulled Kelly closer and, after a brief gaze into her enchanting eyes, he kissed her.  
  
Since it had been nearly thirteen years since Kelly had been kissed, she had forgotten how it made her feel to be so close to someone she either loved or had the potential of loving. She could feel the writer's strong hands on her back, upper and lower, holding her closer to him than she would have cared to be the day before. Kelly slipped her left arm around his shoulders and ran the slender fingers of her right hand through his hair, making the embrace all the more close and intense.  
  
~*~  
  
The next thing Kelly knew, she was waking up in Morton Rainey's bed, still clothed in her jeans and t-shirt, but missing something she held very dear: her wedding ring.  
  
"No..." she muttered, starting to panic. It was a simple silver band, etched with "For Time and all Eternity" on the interior, true, but she grew quite fond of it and if anything should happen to it, she wouldn't know what to do. After less than a quarter of a minute, she found it resting by the lamp on the bedside table. Sighing in relief, she slipped the ring on her finger and cautiously left the room, shutting the door silently and looking for Mort. One glance downstairs told Kelly all she needed to know: he was fast asleep on the couch.  
  
Kelly quickly tucked a blanket around him and, as she put on her sweatshirt and slung her purse over her shoulder, he muttered, "Oh, I see how it is." She looked at him, an amused smile on her face. Morton was much handsomer when he had jus woken up. His hair was in a right state, sticking up all over the place. He squinted at her not wearing his glasses. The overall effect sent butterflies fluttering in Kelly's stomach.  
  
She dropped her purse and sat at the edge of the couch, brushed his hair from his face and asked, "How what is?"  
  
"You entertaining my hospitality then try to sneak off while I'm still asleep," he answered, his tenor voice resonating in the back of his throat.  
  
'Entertain his hospitality?' she thought. 'What happened last night?'  
  
Morton pulled her to him and kissed her lightly. "Stick around, Kell. Stay a while," he said, smiling pleasantly.  
  
"Morton, I have church—"  
  
"I'll be over before you even get there," he said, encircling her with his strong arms. "There's only ten minutes left."  
  
Kelly checked her watch. "It starts in ten minutes, Mort. I have to go. I need to," she kissed him lightly, then got her stuff and went home to get ready for church. Exchanging her street clothes for her jean skirt and forest green baby t-shirt, she wished she could remember what happened the night before.  
  
As she drove to the church building, she desperately tried to remember. The last thing she wanted was to take the sacrament unworthily after she had been so good about going to meetings regularly. That particular Sunday was the first of the month—Fast Sunday. Kelly had been fasting every Sunday for a while; fasting for comfort from her Father in Heaven. The comfort seemed slow coming, she oftentimes thought. She didn't feel comfortable to go to church if she had done something she would regret if she could remember it.  
  
When she got to the building, she had about five minutes (she lied when she told Mort she had ten minutes—she had thirty) to spare and was greeted by Bishop Little. "Good morning, Sister Dryden. How are you?"  
  
"Fine, thank you, Bishop," she answered, adjusting her purse slightly. "Do you need me to do something?" Kelly's Bishop had a tendency to pounce right before meetings started.  
  
"Actually, yes," he said, smiling warmly. "Would you please give a singing testimony during Sunday School today?"  
  
Kelly blushed. She hated it when she had to give a singing testimony. It made her feel singled out because she was the only one in the ward who was asked to. "What's the topic?"  
  
"Eternal marriages. I'm sure you can handle it?" he said, a hopeful note in his voice.  
  
Kelly sighed, her blush dieing away. "Sure. I'll sing..."  
  
"Who can say for certain? Maybe you're still here. I feel you all around me, You're memory's so clear. Deep in the stillness, I can hear you speak. You're still an inspiration. Can it be That you are my forever love, And you are watching over me from up above? Fly me up to where you are Beyond the distant star I wish upon tonight to see you smile, If only for a while to know you're there. A breath away's not far to where you are. Are you gently sleeping Here inside my dream? And isn't faith believing All power can't be seen? As my heart holds you Just one beat away, I cherish all you gave me every day. 'Cause you are my forever love Watching me from up above. And I believe That angels breathe And that love will live on and never leave. Fly me up to where you are Beyond that distant star I wish upon tonight to see you smile, If only for a while to know you're there. A breath away's not far to where you are. I know you're there. A breath away's not far to where you are..."  
  
By all worldly recognition, Kelly's marriage to Scot had been terminated the moment he died. But, by Kelly's recognition, she had been married for seventeen years and counting. The sudden feelings of loss and guilt overwhelmed her. She left the room before she broke down in tears before the entire adult population of the ward. Out in the hall, Kelly leaned against the wall and tried to gain hold on her emotions. She was fighting a losing battle.  
  
Moments later, Sister Little, her visiting teacher, entered the hall. "Kelly, talk to me. You've been overly weepy lately. What's going on?"  
  
Kelly looked at her and said, "Y'know what, Jules? I have no idea what's going on. I don't know what to think; I don't know what to do... I'm... I'm going home. Bye." Grateful that it was the third hour, she smiled and left the building.  
  
When she got home, an unfamiliar car was parked in the driveway. Kelly groaned, entered her house and called, "Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?" 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two:  
  
"Good morning, Dolly," she heard her father, Andy, say from the couch. She walked over and leaned on the back of said furniture. "Good morning, Daddy. Why are you guys here?"  
  
Falling asleep on her very comfortable couch, he said, "Your mother wanted to visit and convince you to move back to Utah."  
  
"I see..." she muttered. "Good night, Daddy." Smiling, she went upstairs, searching for her mother. She found her in the master bedroom, straightening up. "Mama! What're you doing?" she asked, taking her stuffed bear from her mom.  
  
"How can you live in such a mess?" Alison Barham asked, rearranging the do- dads cluttering Kelly's desktop. "It's amazing how you can work as a publisher like this!"  
  
"Mama, it's all right; you don't need to clean my room," Kelly said, ushering Alison to the door. "Go downstairs and wait with Daddy so I can change."  
  
"Kelly," Alison started, stopping in the doorway. She looked at her oldest child and said with sunlight glinting off her silver glasses. "Why do you insist on living here? Why won't you move back to Utah?"  
  
"Because, mother," Kelly answered irritated. "I can afford this. I'm happy; I'm safe... And I might even be in love again. Not that you care." She put her teddy bear back on its shelf.  
  
Mrs. Barham quirked an eyebrow. "Really. Who is he?"  
  
Kelly had busied herself with fixing her do-dads. "Oh, you wouldn't like him," she said lightly.  
  
"Try me."  
  
The publisher glanced at her mother and said, "You blame the death of my daughter on him, so I didn't—"  
  
Alison was livid. "How dare you insult your daughter's memory in such a manner! Have you no common sense?? That man's a murderer!"  
  
Kelly whirled on her. "I'll have you know this: the man in the other vehicle was Greg Carstairs, not Morton Rainey! And I have plenty of common sense; I know what I'm doing! I have felt not one prompting to leave Maine, mother! If I did, I would've moved by now! Don't go through that door; so help me, Lord!" She had her finger bearing down on Alison. Her mother's hand was on the doorknob of the small door by the dresser leading to Ashley's room. Alison took her hand off the handle and Kelly took a few deep breaths. "I'm sorry. That goes to Ashley's room and I haven't let anyone in there since... that day..."  
  
"I understand, Kelly," Alison said, crossing to her. "But seriously, child, I don't want you dating an insane murderer."  
  
Kelly backed away and sang:  
  
"Stop telling me what to do. Don't treat me like a child of two. I know that you want what's best. But, mother, please. Give it a rest! Stop! Don't! No! Please! Stop! Don't! No! Please! Stop! Don't! No! Please! Mama, I'm a big girl now! Once upon a time when I was just a kid, You never let me do just what the older kids did. But lose that laundry list of what you won't allow 'Cause, mama, I'm a big girl now! Once upon a time I used to play with toys. But now I'd rather play around with [grown-up] boys. So, if I get a hickey, please don't have a cow! 'Cause, mama, I'm a big girl now! Ma, I gotta tell you that without a doubt I get my best dancing lessons from you! You're the one who taught me how to 'twist and shout' Because you shout non-stop and you're so twisted, too! Wo-oh-oh-oh-oh Once I used to fidget 'cause I just stayed home. But now I'm just like Gidget and I gotta get to Rome! So say, arrivederci! Toodle-loo! And ciao! 'Cause, mama, I'm a big girl now! Stop! Don't! No! Please! Stop! Don't! No! Please! Stop! Don't! No! Please! Mama, I'm a big girl now! Once upon a time I was a shy young thing Could barely walk and talk so much as dance and sing! But let me hit that stage, I wanna take my bow! 'Cause, mama, I'm a big girl now! Wo-oh-oh-oh-oh Once upon a time I used to dress up 'Ken' But now that I'm a woman, I like bigger men. And I don't need a Barbie doll to show me how. 'Cause, mama, I'm a big girl now! Ma, you always taught me what was right from wrong. And now I just wanna give a try! Mama, I've been in the nest for far too long So please give a push and, mama, watch me fly! Watch me fly! Hey, mama, say, mama. Someday I will meet a man you won't condemn. And we will have some kids and you can torture them. But let me be a star before I take that vow. 'Cause, mama, I'm a big girl now! Oh-oh-oh Mama, I'm a big girl now. Hey-hey-hey Mama, I'm a big girl now! Stop! Don't! No! Please! Stop! Don't! No! Please! Stop! Don't! No! Please! Mama, I'm a big girl now!"  
  
Alison stared at Kelly, surprised, "All right... When did you learn that one?"  
  
Kelly pulled her hair into a ponytail and answered, "Last spring, I was the vocal coach for the high school's production of 'Hairspray' for their senior play." She changed out of her skirt and into her dance slacks while hiding behind the oriental-style dressing screen.  
  
"Good morning, Baltimore! There's the Flasher who lives next-door! And the bum on his barroom stool! They wish me luck on my way to school. Good morning, Baltimore! And someday when I take to the floor, The world's gonna wake up and see: Baltimore and me!"  
  
"Kelly, stop singing," she heard her dad say from the doorway. Kelly shut her mouth and glanced in that direction. Andy had never told her to stop singing without a reason, so she waited for him to continue. "There's a scruffy looking man who wants to speak with you." He moved aside and Morton entered the room, taking in the disorganization.  
  
"I wasn't expecting you," Kelly said, somewhat startled. "What did you need?"  
  
Morton smiled and asked, "Is it typical of a publisher to keep the public access rooms of their house orderly, but their bedrooms a wreck?"  
  
Alison and Andy looked confused, but Kelly merely smiled. "I need at least one room of disorder to function. I ask again: what do you need?"  
  
He opened his mouth to answer, but Andy cut him off, "Kelly, who is this character?"  
  
Kelly smiled at her idiocy and said, "Oh, duh. Wake up, Kelly. This is my mom and dad, Alison and Andy Barham. Mama, Daddy, this my neighbor, Morton Rainey."  
  
Alison paled and left quickly. Andy smiled, held out his hand and said, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Rainey. I've read all your works. I'm a big fan." He and the author shook hands. "You never told me he was your neighbor, Dolly." He was smiling at her, so Kelly knew he wasn't mad.  
  
She walked over and, letting Morton take her hand, said, "I'm sorry, Daddy, I must have forgotten... Have you heard of Diary of His FallenAngel yet?"  
  
Andy thought for a moment. "It's your new book, isn't it? I heard a rumor about it," he said to Morton.  
  
"It is," the writer said, shooting Kelly a look. "Where'd you stash the manuscript, Kell?"  
  
"Um... ba, ba, ba..." Kelly belly-flopped onto the bed and rummaged through the nightstand drawer. "Not here..." she checked under the bed. "I found the cat. Bump, get out of there!" Bump ran out of the room. Kelly sat up and thought. "Hmmm... Ah!" Her face lit up and she stuck her hand under the pillow, pulling out the manuscript. "Here it is!" She held it out. "Can he read some, Mort? Just a small preview?"  
  
Mort shrugged. "Sure. Give him the first flash-back or something."  
  
Kelly flipped through the manuscript and handed the pages to her father, saying, "This is my favorite part. From here... to here."  
  
I had just walked out of the saloon I was currently working in. There were some rough types present during my shift, so I wasn't in the most pleasant of all moods. My mind was everywhere but on the shift I had just completed, serving drinks to gambling drunkards.  
  
As I walked past the marshal's office, on my way home, I heard shouting behind me. I turned to see who it was. If I didn't recognize either man in the scuffle, I would have gone home. But, I thought it was my father and the dangerous man, John Ringo, who were arguing.  
  
"Papaw? Is that you?" I called, hoping beyond all hope that it wasn't really my dearest friends in the heated argument. I admit now that John Ringo and I had known each other since 1867 and were fairly good friends. My parents hated Ringo and mine friendship as he was reported to be an adolescent drunk and juvenile delinquent, two accusations, which he claimed, had no evidence to prove their truth.  
  
The marshal walked out of his office at the sound of my voice, "Miss Cassidy! You should be at home. No lady should be walking the streets of this town alone. Especially at night!"  
  
"Marshal, can you tell me if that's my father arguing with Johnny Ringo, please?"  
  
The marshal peered down the street for a minute then said, "Yes, I do believe it is old Seamus Cassidy. Do you want me to break it up?"  
  
"If you would, please," I begged, following him quickly down the street.  
  
"What are you doing out this late, anyways, Miss Cassidy?"  
  
"I just got off work at the saloon," I said, as we ran down the sidewalk and stopped outside a different saloon that I had never been inside before.  
  
The two men were quarrelling at the top of their voices. I couldn't understand a word they were saying, only that they were furious with each other.  
  
"That's it, gents, break it up!" the marshal called as walked over to pull them apart.  
  
"Git away from me!" Johnny Ringo screamed, then pulled out his .45 caliber. I could tell he was in a drunken rage and had asked my father the question again. I didn't know what the question was, and didn't care to know, actually.  
  
Now, my father never was really quick with his pistol. Even I had a faster gun hand, and I'm a woman. When Papaw saw Ringo with his gun drawn, I was shocked to see he made a grab for his own.  
  
"Papaw! No, don't!" I screamed as my father pulled out his weapon.  
  
I ran to place myself between Papaw and Johnny Ringo. Knowing I was putting my life on the line, I stood firmly between the two fighting men. I also knew Johnny Ringo. If he weren't such a louse, he was really a gentleman at heart, having known him, as I said before, for a little over six years. Johnny would never shoot a woman, lady or no.  
  
"Git yerself outta my way, Cassidy!" he yelled at me, proving my thought about his compassion for the female sex true.  
  
"Johnny Ringo, if you think for one second, I would allow you to hurt my Papaw, you're dead wrong!" I said to the extremely angered Cowboy. He knew I meant business. In all the years we had known each other, we had never gotten into the smallest argument, and for me to raise my voice to him was almost like shooting him in the head.  
  
"Now, lass, don't be foolish. His quarrel is with me, not you. Go on home, Ciara," my father tried pushing me aside. I wouldn't budge, even in the slightest.  
  
"He's right, Miss Cassidy. Come on, come here," the marshal said, holding out his hand for mine.  
  
I didn't move. I didn't blink. I just stared at Johnny Ringo. He stared right back. We could go on like this for hours. It was just another staring contest to me. I could see the wheels in his head turning, thinking of what he'd rather being than be in this argument. It made me almost sick to think about it.  
  
"You'd better listen to them, girl. I'd hate to think of what would happen should my trigger finger slip," Ringo said, winking at me, and odd glint in his eye.  
  
"You haven't even cocked it, Johnny. Don't play mind games with me; you know how I hate it. C'mon, gents just give your pistols to the good marshal and we'll all go home. Let's not have any blood on the streets of our town. Please, Papaw, Johnny," I said, earnestly trying to convince them to give up their fight.  
  
"You know what, Cass? You're right. You're absolutely right. Here yeh go, marshal. I'll pick it up in the morning," Ringo said, handing his pistol to the marshal and smiling at me, making me feel uncomfortable.  
  
"Papaw?"  
  
Papaw looked at his pistol for a second, then, under my arm, he shot at Ringo. A look of fury crossed Johnny's face so that it frightened me. He shoved me aside and shot my father in the chest. I fell to the ground in time to see Papaw's face twist in pain and hear his scream of anguish.  
  
"Papaw!!"  
  
"John Ringo, you're under arrest!"  
  
"What're you talkin' about, marshal? It was a fair fight. We was legal," Ringo said, justifying his action.  
  
I crawled over to my father who lay dying in the street. "Papaw? Papaw, are you... Saints preserve us..."  
  
The wound was obviously fatal. I couldn't believe I would lose my beloved father that way. I brushed some of his graying hair from his face and looked, for the final time, into the eyes of the only member of y family who believed I was innocent of all charges against me.  
  
"T-take my... My pistol, sweetheart... An' my knife... I know I can trust you to keep and take proper care of... Of them... Listen to me, Ciara..." Papaw was struggling beyond all belief to speak these last words to me, and it hurt my heart to hear him do so.  
  
"Papaw, shh. Don't speak. Save your energy—"  
  
"Eilis Ciara Cassidy... Listen... To your father's... Dying words... Take care of yourself, now... I can't help... Protect you anymore..."  
  
"Papaw, no. Don't—"  
  
"I... I love you... Ciara..." With these final words, my father faded.  
  
"Papaw!! No, Papaw, don't leave me... Please! Papaw..." I broke down in tears as the marshal hoisted me to my feet, and then escorted me into the strange saloon. I noticed Johnny Ringo had disappeared by then.  
  
"Marshal, what's going on? Cassidy? I'd thought she be in bed by this time!" Richard Stewart, an acquaintance of mine, said, getting me a chair.  
  
"Ringo just killed her father, Richard. Keep her here while I take care of things. Thank you," the marshal said, handing Richard my father's pistol.  
  
"Please tell me you didn't see Ringo shoot him, Cassidy. That's not something girls like you should be witnessin'," Richard said, setting Papaw's pistol on the table next to me.  
  
I looked at the gun, shining in the lamplight. I examined the gleaming finish, the curve of the trigger, the straight barrel. Ever so slowly, so as not attract Richard's attention, I reached for the beautiful weapon. Upon seizing it, I walked quietly out of the saloon and to my father's body, still lying in the street, a sheet pulled over him, nothing more. Kneeling down next to my once living father, I pulled the knife out of its sheath at his belt. The two deadly weapons in my hands, I began walking home once more.  
  
As I walked, I was a shell, an emotionless being. I passed my mother and two sisters by an empty lot. Only the youngest, Keely, stopped me.  
  
"Cassidy, what happened? Mother's most upset!"  
  
I ignored the eight-year-old girl and continued walking.  
  
"Cassidy, please! Tell me!" she called after me.  
  
I turned then. "What do you want me to say, Keely? The truth? It's more horrible than I could ever imagine it could ever have been! Papaw's dead, Keely! Okay? There, I told you. Are you happy now? You'd best get on home, unless you want to see what I've seen!" I screamed at my dear little sister, as I never had done before.  
  
She burst into tears, "I don't believe you! How could you make up such horrible lies about father? I hate you!" I watched the child run towards the saloon, where she had seen my mother disappear. Keely never forgave me of that.  
  
"Well, ain't this a sad evening for Miss Cassidy," the cold voice of Johnny Ringo said behind me, chilling me to the bone.  
  
I whipped around to face him. "How could you do this to our family? You would leave four defenseless women alone in a town like Burnet?"  
  
"You're hardly defenseless, Cass."  
  
"But you would leave me without my defender? I thought you called yourself my friend!" I said. "Why'd you do it?"  
  
He shrugged and took a few steps towards me into the light from the street lamps. His rugged features caught and held the firelight. I could see an odd glimmer in his unfathomable blue eyes that gave me horrible goose flesh.  
  
"I once thought that if someone could give you some manners and clean you up a bit, you'd make a right nice gentleman. I suppose you proved me wrong better than anyone ever could tonight, didn't you?"  
  
"Perhaps."  
  
Johnny stopped so close to me that I could smell the dusty, travel scent on his clothes.  
  
"Do you wanna know why I killed him, Cass? Hmm?" he asked in a whisper that made me uneasy. A difficult thing to do, I'm most comfortable around Johnny, but that time...  
  
"Not really," I said coldly, stepping away from him and into the shadows of the empty lot.  
  
He followed me and turned me to face him. Gently brushing a lock of my hair from my face, he looked into my eyes. I saw, in his eyes, a disturbing pain that I had never seen there before. I've dealt cards at various saloons since I was twelve and Johnny Ringo had been playing at my table every chance he got in each location my family moved to. He was even there for me when my cousin was shot and killed the day we met in San Jose, California. For six years, I never saw this pain in him. I suppose I never really looked into Johnny Ringo's eyes.  
  
I'm glad I didn't. It made me uncomfortable. "Johnny, please. You're making me feel more ill at ease than ever I was before," I said, taking a few steps away from the murderous Cowboy.  
  
He didn't try to stop me form leaving. "Go on, get outta here, Cass. Danger's always on the streets of Burnet. Sleep sweet," he said, holding out his hand for mine.  
  
I let him take my hand in his. He analyzed with great care one of the two hands that dealt his poker cards more rapidly and carefully than he had ever seen before. His thumb caressed my knuckles for a bit. Raising my hand, Johnny kissed it with more tenderness than I thought possible from such a rough and tumble man. Still holding my hand, he said, not exactly looking at me, but instead at my hand, "I suppose you'll swear to your mother to never come near me. And that you'll stop at nothing to destroy me?"  
  
"If I did, and if ever I would, you wouldn't be alive right now, Johnny Ringo," I said, calmly watching him stare at my hand, which he was caressing once more.  
  
He looked at me, "Ah, yes. You're the one barmaid who actually knows what she's doing with a pistol. And if I'm not very much mistaken, you're carrying your father's right now."  
  
Sadly, it seemed, Ringo let go of my hand and smiled at me. "Hurry home, Cass. Don't want anythin' to happen to Texas' top dealer," he said, winking at me.  
  
I slowly turned towards my home. I just turned, that's all. I wanted to hear his footsteps fade away behind me before I started walking. Instead, I felt his arms around my waist, his warm breath on my ear and his strong presence close behind me. Closer than I would have liked. I knew he smelled my hair; my father did that before I left for work. Should it smell like alcohol when I returned, I lost supper that night, and needless to say, I didn't eat supper very often. Though, I couldn't, not for the life of me, figure out why Johnny Ringo was doing it now.  
  
"I know you only wanna go home right now, Cass, but..." he whispered in my ear.  
  
"But, what, John?" I whispered my question, hardly daring to stay to hear his answer.  
  
"But, if this is the last time I'll ever see your beautiful figure in my life, I'd like to know your scent of rose oil wasn't just my imagination. You must forgive me, Miss Cassidy... Eilis," he confessed with difficulty, startling me.  
  
I turned around in his arms to face him. Looking up at the dejected Cowboy, I said, "Johnny, you're- you're not making very much sense..." I knew exactly what he meant. What he was telling me. I just needed to hear it for myself.  
  
"I will always remember the twelve year old girl from San Jose who needed my help on the first night we met," he said, leaning towards me.  
  
I was uncomfortable, true, for he was one of my closest friends, but I let him kiss me...  
  
While Andy was reading, Morton and Kelly sat on the bed and watched. Morton was searching for any sign of approval from him and Kelly searched for any reaction from the only two men in her life.  
  
When he finished reading, Andy handed the pages back and said, "I like it. Eilis—or Cassidy, or whatever her name is—reminds me of you, Dolly."  
  
"I don't know if I should take that as a compliment or an insult," Kelly said, laughing and squeezing Morton's hand.  
  
Morton laughed and said, "Take it as a compliment; Eilis is my favorite character and she's my best by far."  
  
'Except John Shooter...' a voice in Kelly's head said.  
  
"Um... Daddy? Could you leave us for a while? I need to talk to Morton," Kelly asked, taking a drink from the water bottle next to the computer.  
  
"Yeah, sure," Andy said, leaving the room and closing the door.  
  
Morton turned to Kelly, kissed her, then asked, "What do you need to talk about?"  
  
Kelly sighed and fell against the mountains of pillows and said, "I need to know how we're defining our relationship. Just so I'm not confused."  
  
Morton stared at the far wall as he thought. He laid next to her and rolled over onto his side. "Well, actually, I hadn't thought about it before now... But I admit I've had a sort of a crush on you for a while... Since you moved here, actually," he said quietly.  
  
She felt her eyes widen. "But you were still married then! How--? Why-- ?"  
  
He placed a finger on her lips and said, "I didn't act on it. No matter how attracted to you I was, I was still in love with Amy. Nothing changed that... Until she discovered Ted, that is."  
  
Kelly felt a jolt of sorrow for him. He had to discover it for himself when Amy had many a chance to tell him. For example: al the times she came to Kelly and Ashley for advice about it and always getting the same answer—tell him.  
  
The words that came to her mind startled her: "She had stolen his love, and a woman who would steal your love when your love was really all you had to give was not much of a woman. He loved her, all the same. It was Shooter who hated her. It was Shooter who meant to kill her and then bury her down by the lake near Chico, where she would before long be a mystery to both of them."  
  
Morton sighed and muttered, "A man who sleeps with another man's wife is a thief. And the woman is his accomplice..."  
  
"Morton, don't think like that," Kelly said, feeling a little creeped out by the statement.  
  
"It's true. You can't say it isn't, Kell," he grumbled. "It's true... You're lucky; you didn't have to worry about it..."  
  
She turned onto her side away from him and muttered, "You'd be surprised..."  
  
Surprised, Morton inched closer to her and asked, "What do you mean?" Kelly didn't say anything. Her only reaction to his question was to heave a shuddering sigh. "Kelly, I don't understand. What did you mean?"  
  
"I can't tell you; I promised her I wouldn't," she said quietly.  
  
"But she's gone, Kelly. Your promise is expired."  
  
Kelly remained silent. Morton inched closer, wrapped his arms around her, rested his head on her arm and waited. He didn't have to wait long, however. After a minute or so, Kelly took a deep breath and said, "She kept coming to me and Ashley for advice. She told us everything, Mort. How you had your own lover—your work—how she felt ignored; how she met Ted; how she fell into her mistakes. She wanted to tell you. Ashley and I constantly told her to do so... But she never did. I'm sorry, Mort. I should've told you..."  
  
Morton cradled her and said, "It's all right. You made a promise and you didn't know me well enough to tell me something so personal. I forgive you..."  
  
They lay in silence until the phone rang five minutes later. Kelly answered, "Hello? This is she... I see... Yes, I know... Uh-huh... All right... Yes. Thank you. Good-bye." She pressed the button and dropped the phone. Grateful Morton didn't ask who called, Kelly waited for a few minutes then asked, "Morton, who's John Shooter?"  
  
His breath caught in his throat. "Why?" he asked, cautiously. Kelly shrugged and said, "I've heard his name before and thought you might know him. Do you?"  
  
"We've met," he said simply. "Around the time Amy disappeared. He's one of the Crazy Folk, Mississippi branch. Accused me of plagiarism. He's nobody. Where'd you hear about him?"  
  
"The general store. They were talking about your problem with him and how no one knew what he looked like or who he was," she answered. Then she turned toward him suddenly, looked him square in the eyes and said, "This is the only time I'm gonna ask: Who is John Shooter? Because there is no John Shooter from Dellacourt, Mississippi. There's not even a Dellacourt in Mississippi. Who is he really, Mort?"  
  
"I told you; he's one of the Crazy Folk. There's nothing more to him," Morton said, shifty-eyed.  
  
Kelly scoffed, got up and left out the back door leading to the small balcony-porch where she collapsed in a deck chair. A few seconds later, Morton joined her. "You're right; there was no Shooter, Kelly," he said as he sat next to her on the ground. "It was me..."  
  
"Why did you do it, Mort? The whole elaborate and homicidal episode?" she asked.  
  
"Shooter kept saying he wanted a story—"  
  
"But there was no Shooter. What did you want, Mort? What did you create Shooter for?" she interrupted, running her fingers through his hair.  
  
"I don't know..."  
  
Kelly stared out at the lake and said, "Well, I hope you find out before he comes back..."  
  
~*~  
  
The next morning found sheriff Dave Newsome on Kelly's front step. Mrs. Barham, whom he had spoken with on the phone, opened the door. Her face brightened when he introduced himself. "Thank goodness you're here! I haven't wanted to go upstairs because he's in the house," she said, letting him into the house.  
  
"Do you know who he is?" he asked her, looking around the front room.  
  
She shook her head. "No. I'm afraid it might be that man who was killing people a couple months ago, though. He lives next door."  
  
The sheriff shot her a look. "Morton Rainey? We can't prove it was him who killed them. Can I take a look upstairs, Mrs. Barham?"  
  
"Oh, yes, of course."  
  
"Where's Kelly?"  
  
"I wish I knew..."  
  
When they reached the master bedroom door, the sheriff listened and heard some movement on the other side. He opened the door slowly and saw Morton Rainey sitting on the floor beside an in progress 'Lord of the Rings Monopoly' game. The Legolas figurine was on the Hobbiton square, whereas the Frodo figurine was on the Mount Doom square. Kelly was nowhere in sight.  
  
Morton looked up and said, "Good morning, Dave. Did you need something?"  
  
Newsome shifted his hand to his holstered gun discreetly and said, "Where's Kelly?"  
  
The writer looked towards the back door. "She went out to feed the cat."  
  
"Stand up, Rainey!"  
  
Morton complied. Newsome clapped handcuffs on him as Kelly walked in through the back door.  
  
"What in the world are you doing?" she demanded, irritated that their game of Monopoly was already interrupted by Bump and now by this. "Let him go."  
  
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dryden, but he's trespassing. I have to bring him in," the sheriff said.  
  
Kelly shot her mother a vicious look. "Who called you? Her? Well, then, I'm gonna have to ask you to ignore her since this isn't her house; it's mine. And he's not trespassing at all," Kelly said icily.  
  
The sheriff looked between mother and daughter for a minute before Andy walked in, bleary-eyed and asked, "What's going on? Dolly, why is Mr. Rainey in handcuffs?"  
  
"Mama thought it would be funny to have Morton arrested. Please tell sheriff Newsome to let him go," Kelly asked her father.  
  
"Let him go, sheriff," Andy said in a low growl.  
  
The sheriff did so then left, a grumbling Alison on his heels.  
  
"Morton, I'm so sorry," Kelly said. "She thinks it was you who hit Ashley not Greg, so she's biased against you in the first place. Then with our friendship..."  
  
"I understand completely, Kelly," he said, holding up a hand. "I have to go anyways. Orthodontist appointment. Bye." He kissed her on the cheek and left out the back door.  
  
Kelly looked at her father who was watching her, wearing an amused smile. "What?" she asked, defensively.  
  
"Nothing," he said. "You and Mr. Rainey aren't just friends, are you?"  
  
Kelly blushed. "That's none of your business, Daddy! Go get dressed!" 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three:

Morton felt that World War III had erupted in Kelly's house when he got home from his orthodontist appointment. He could hear Kelly and her mother yelling at each other. Andy, however, was sitting on the porch swing, reading. Morton walked over and said, "I see war has started. Do they do this a lot?"

Andy didn't look up from his book. "Every time they're together."

Morton sat in a vacant deck chair and asked, "How can you stand it?"

"I've gotten used to it," Andy said. "Kelly and Alison don't have a very good relationship. They've been like this for about 34 years; since she was two and developed a personality of her own that conflicted with her mother's. After so long, you get used to it and learn to love the times your daughter runs from her mother to you... Of course, now instead of her mother sending Kelly away—"

"Get out of my house! Get OUT!!" Kelly yelled from within the house. Her voice was positively dripping with utter loathing. "How dare you say that about him! He has done nothing to you! Nothing!! _Get out!!_"

Alison stalked outside, slamming the door behind her. When she saw Morton sitting next to Andy, her eyes grew cold and her voice harsh, "You're stealing her from me and I want her back! I don't want you near her ever again! Do you hear me?"

"Alison, be reasonable," Andy said, placing a bookmark in the pages. "The girl's 36 years old. She's not your teenage daughter anymore. She knows what she's doing; let them alone."

Alison groaned and stormed away, taking the rental car with her. From inside the house, the men could hear a CD blaring. Andy returned to his book and Morton entered the house.

"_Broadway is dark tonight;_

_Little bit weaker then you used to be._

_Broadway is dark tonight..._

_See the young man sitting in the old man's bar,_

Waiting for his turn to die..." 

He found Kelly in her study, reading his manuscript. Her brow was furrowed in her concentration and her loose strands of hair falling out of her ponytail framed her face gracefully. She had changed out of her pajamas into her black Capri's and black baby t-shirt with 'PHF' on the front in brilliant green. Her right hand supported her forehead, stopping only to turn the page while she absently petted Bump who was resting happily on the armrest with her left. She didn't look up when he entered, and he didn't feel he had to make his presence known. He quietly took a seat in the other armchair in the room and waited.

After a few minutes, she sighed and said, "Cassidy has a bad relationship with her family—except her father, that is—like me... Did you write this based on me?" She looked up at him, a questioning look in her eyes. Kelly seemed almost scared. "Because if you did, I'd like to know where you got your information."

Morton shook his head. "No, I just wrote it... Where are you?" he said, interested in her progress.

"Wyatt Earp just gave her permission to court Ringo and her mother disowned her..."

I was calmly concentrating on the piano music I had memorized. This particular song I hadn't played for a while and my fingers were stumbling more than usual over the keys. So, I was frustrated already when Fehr walked up behind me and whispered in my ear, "We need to talk."

Those four words tended to chill a woman's heart when spoken by her beau. Not mine, though. I didn't particularly care that Fehr had said then, either, "Not now, I'm busy."

"Like hell you're busy!" he growled, slamming the key cover shut, almost crushing my fingers, which I pulled out of harm's way. The loud noise resonated in the hallow piano, drawing the eyes of every patron in the saloon. "We're gonna talk now, whether you like it or not!"

"Fine," I said, walking over to the bar. "Talk. I'm all ears. Water, Milt. Please." On the edge of my vision, I saw Johnny Ringo stand and walk to place himself in a strategic location. Which, at the time, was behind Wyatt's faro table.

"I know what's happening between you and Ringo, Eilis. I'm not stupid. Don't think I can't see it in your eyes," Fehr said, glaring at me with a very accusing pair of his own. "Every night, you dote on him during your poker games. Your eyes meet more than is natural."

"Ryan, I don't know what you're talking about," I said, sipping my water. I saw Johnny's hand slid to his holstered pistol. For once, I was not happy I had such excellent peripheral vision; for I also noticed we had the attention of every person in the Oriental.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he wiped away the powder concealing the dark circles under my eyes. "Those aren't from being beaten. You've been sneaking out to see him after I take you home!"

"What are you talking about, Fehr? I've been staying up late the past few nights to finish my sister's birthday gift! It's her sixteenth next week!" I said, my voice rising in pitch and volume. That's when Fehr struck me. He backhanded me so hard, I nearly fell to the other side of the counter I was leaning against. Whatever side conversations still happening were silenced.

"Eilis, Xylia Faire wasn't the only Fehr to know the dark arts. I know your thoughts and they contradict your words," Fehr whispered in my ear, while holding onto my hair. "You may as well confess."

"Mr. Fehr, step away from Miss Cassidy," Johnny said, hand on holstered pistol, approaching us.

"Back off, Ringo. It's your fault she and I are having this conversation!" Fehr snarled at the Cowboy.

Fehr had me in a very uncomfortable position. My entire torso was flat against the bar counter, my arms pinned to my sides by either Fehr's chest or his other arm, reaching across my width. He had a tight grip on my curls and was pulling so hard, I was in tears of pain. Unwilling tears to boot. I could taste blood in my mouth and realized when he had hit me, I had bit my tongue almost severing the tip of it.

"Your tears do you no good. They do nothing but dehydrate you, Eilis," Fehr said, mocking my pain.

"No man is worth crying for. The only one who is, will never make me cry," I said evenly. "But, Mr. Fehr, you're correct. You're absolutely correct. I'm—in—love—with—Johnny Ringo."

I heard a chair scrap as gasps filled the saloon. Fehr had let of me and I slide off the counter into the sheltered side of the bar, grabbed a dishcloth and held it to my mouth as I watched, cautiously what was happening on the other side of my refuge.

"Ringo, we have some business to discuss, then," Fehr let fly a punch, but the blow never struck home. Five inches from breaking his nose, Johnny had caught Fehr's hand.

"Don't. Touch. Me," Johnny said, quietly. He let Fehr loose. Fehr glared at him, then left.

I sank to the floor, still chewing on the dishcloth, and leaning against the cupboards, began rubbing my sore scalp. As I sat, I could hear Wyatt and Johnny speaking in low voices while the saloon's usual dull roar resumed.

Fehr had been gone for close to five minutes when Johnny joined me on the floor. My tongue had stopped bleeding, but I could still taste the metallic liquid in my mouth. "Are you alright?" Johnny asked, slipping an arm around my waist.

"Yeah. Just sore," I answered, tossing the dishcloth into the basket Milt keeps his dirty towels in before I wash them. I leaned against Johnny's shoulder and sighed, "What did Wyatt want to talk to you about?"

Johnny raised an eyebrow, "What makes you think he and I spoke to each other?"

"Oh. Come off it, Ringo. The two of you have very distinctive growls!" I teased.

"He wanted to make sure I would be able to take care of you before he let me court you," Johnny said nonchalantly.

"Don't lie to me," I said, "you know I hate it."

"He's not lying. What a horrible thing to say about your beau, Ciara. I'm surprised. I mean, after last night, I'd thought you would be happy I—um—informed Fehr of your actions," I looked up and Wyatt was leaning over the bar and smiling down on us. "Besides, why did you think I convinced your mother to let you move in with me an' Mattie? I hate Ringo, but I hate Fehr more, and I can't bear seeing you unhappy." He tapped me on the head and left.

"He's... not... serious... Is he?" I asked.

Johnny simply nodded, amused by the look of shock on my face.

I threw my arms around him and kissed him happily.

I am convinced there is _**nothing**_ more frightening than a forty-year-old Irish mother who was extremely angry with you.

"_**EILIS CIARA CASSIDY!!!"**_

I was shocked so completely to hear my _mother's_ voice in the Oriental that I hit a few sour notes. Mother _never_ believed in my interest with the saloons I worked in. I had never in my life seen her even _near_ the saloons, excepting the night Papaw died. She usually kept clear of Allen Street, sending Keely or I to run any errands that would send us down there. I pretended I didn't hear her and continued playing. I threw a worried look at Wyatt and Johnny, both of whom were nearby. Wyatt sent me a silent message, telling me not to worry. I finished the piece and closed the piano.

"Don't you dare ignore me, young lady!" my mother shouted, making her way through the crowd that parted for her.

I continued about my usual business of clearing away the piano.

Thankfully, Wyatt came to my rescue. "Mrs. Cassidy, would you like to join us in a bit of poker?" he asked mother, knowing she could never resist a good game of five card draw.

"Not now, Wyatt. I need to speak with my disobedient daughter," she hissed at him, surprising us both.

"What has she done, madam, that was so disobedient? I've seen her do no wrong," Johnny said cautiously.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the woman whip around and aim a cocked pistol at his head. She said in a deadly whisper, "Git away from me, you sonnav a bitch. First you stole my husband from me. You're not gonna steal my daughter." She began to squeeze the trigger.

I realized with a jolt that mother did indeed know how to use a gun and that nobody was going to do anything for Johnny. "Ma, stop!" I ran up behind her and pulled the pistol out of her grasp. "You could hurt someone with this," I scolded her, then realized whose weapon it was, "This is mine! So _you've_ had it all this time?"

Mother turned to look me in the eye. Only then did I noticed how vertically challenged she was compared to me. In a low growl, she said, "Don't lecture me, lass. I'm at the end of my rope with you!"

I bent to look her in the eye and said very sweetly, "Then tie a knot and hold on, _mother._"

"You are my daughter, and therefore, you will abide by my rules!"

"I don't live in your house, I'll follow the rules Wyatt sets before me," I said, twirling my pistol that she had stolen from me three years ago.

"Wyatt?" she said quietly, glancing at said frontiersman.

While her attention was averted, I walked over to Johnny and took his hand.

"Wyatt, I cannot believe you would do this to my family!" my mother said.

"Wake up, Ailill! The girl's almost twenty-six years old! Let her go," Wyatt said, leaning on the faro table in front of him.

"I've lost one daughter, already, Wyatt. I'm not ready to –"

"You're not ready to let me live my life the way I want? Forgive me, mother, but you don't own me. Never have, never will. I have the right to love whomever I please!" I raised my voice to my mother for the first time in my life.

She turned, shocked, and, seeing my hand clasped firmly in Johnny's, grew angry, "You ungrateful wench! Is this how you honor your father's memory? I swear, if I had that pistol, I'd—"

I shot at the target five times, emptying the weapon, then handed it to her. "You'd what?" I asked, sweetly smiling at her.

She moved to hit me with the butt of the gun. Johnny caught her wrist and Wyatt took the pistol. My mother glared at Johnny, "Listen, buddy, I don't know who you think you are, but that is my daughter and—"

"Ailill, you gave up parental ownership when you let me take her in. Now, go home, have Keely make you a cup of tea, and leave Ciara alone," Wyatt said, leading my mother out of the saloon and down the street.

"You've made a right mess of your family relationships, I'd say, Miss Cassidy."

"She never really cared much about me, Virgil. To her, I'd be the runt of the litter," I answered, wrapping my arms around Johnny's waist.

"That can't be true, Miss Cassidy!"

"It is, Josephine. It's high time you learn that not everything in Tombstone is perfect..."

The front door opened and closed. Assuming it was her father, the writer and his publisher ignored it and continued with their cross-examination of the manuscript. Minutes later, however, an unfamiliar man entered the study, "Mrs. Dryden, Mr. Rainey, my name is Fred Johnston. It is a pleasure to meet you because I'm going to make a ton of money on this case!"

In her surprise, Kelly gave a sudden start, pulling herself out of her sleep. She checked the nearest clock, saw it read about 2:47 am and went downstairs to the kitchen where she found her father's note on the counter:

Dolly—

We're sorry about leaving without saying good-bye, but your mother was livid and she couldn't stand staying next door to Mr. Rainey any longer. We'll be in the hotel across the lake for three more nights, and then go back to Ogden.

Hugs and kisses. Sleep sweet and see you in the morning; I want to take you out for breakfast before you go to work.

Love, Dad

Smiling at his thoughtfulness, Kelly tucked her father's message into a plastic page protector in her desk drawer so she could put it in her unfinished scrapbook, then got a glass of water. As she sipped her water, she thought about her dream. It was so strange and so sudden! It was true she and Morton had been discussing his manuscript, but there had been no lawyer named Fred Johnston or otherwise. He had said he was going to make 'a ton of money on this case...' She worried what that meant. What case? Where they finally going to press murder charges against Morton?

Shuddering, Kelly took her drink and walked into the living room. She screamed and her glass shattered against the floor.

Standing before a roaring fire Kelly could've sworn wasn't there moments before was a man she had never seen before. The man looked about 45-ish. 'He was very thin. His face was calm, almost serene, but carved with deep lines. They moved horizontally across his high brow in regular waves, cut vertically downward from the ends of his thin lips to his jaw line, and radiated outward in tiny sprays from the corners of his eyes. The eyes were bright, unfaded blue. Kelly couldn't tell what colored his hair was; he wore a large black hat with a round crown planted squarely on his head. The underside of the brim touched the tops of his ears. It looked like the sort of hat Quakers wore. He had no sideburns, either, and for all Kelly knew, he might be as bald as Telly Savalas under that round-crowned felt hat.

'He was wearing a blue work-shirt. It was buttoned neatly all the way to the loose, razor-reddened flesh of his neck, although he wore no tie. The bottom of the shirt disappeared into a pair of blue-jeans that looked a little too big for the man wearing them. They ended in cuffs which lay neatly on a pair of yellow work-shoes which looked made for walking in a furrow of played-out earth about thee and a half feet behind a mule's ass.'

"There's no need to be scared, missus," the man said, coming towards her. The firelight glinted off a metal object in his hand. "I ain't gonna hurt you..." His hand twitched and the metal object came into better light: it was a large, sharp knife from her kitchen.

Side-stepping the broken glass, Kelly inched towards the stairs. "Who are you; what do you want?" she demanded, shakily.

He walked towards her. "Little Mormon girl like you got no business with Mr. Rainey, no how," he said, quietly, but menacingly. He shifted his grip on the knife handle. "Little Mormon Girl gotta leave Mr. Rainey be... Or ya might get hurt." He lunged at her, swinging the knife.

Kelly ran up the stairs, hearing the knife dig into the beautiful woodwork of her house's walls. She stole a glance at the man. He pulled the knife out of the wall and came after her. Kelly could think of nowhere to go but Ashley's room. Strangely, it was the only one with locks on the doors.

She dashed inside and locked the door. Then, tripping over things in the dark, she made her way to the other door and locked it. She flipped the light switch and looked around her prison. It was exactly the way Ashley left it, save the items that shifted when Kelly tripped over them.

The door halfway up the stairs rattled and Kelly's heart froze. That particular lock was notorious for breaking. Quickly looking around, Kelly spotted the third door leading to the second flight of exterior stairs. She made a frantic dash across the room to it. The rattling door finally burst open as Kelly flung herself out of the house.

Kelly flew down the wooden steps. Once she was on the firm ground, the only place she could think of to run to was Morton's cabin. So that's where she went. Twenty feet from his porch, she twisted her ankle and fell. She could hear the man running behind her still on her trail. Kelly scrambled to her feet, and, wincing in pain, hobbled to his door. Once there, she pounded on it, screaming, "Morton! Morton, it's Kelly! Please, you have to let me in! **_PLEASE!!!_**"

"He's not home. Now inn't that a shame?" the man said, as he calmly walked across the enclosed porch to her. "You've got nowhere to run; nobody to save you now. It's the end of your line, Little Mormon Girl." The man raised the knife over his head and began to bring it down on Kelly.

She screamed shrilly and fell to the ground, landing hard. Her bedroom door opened and Andy stepped inside. "Dolly, are you all right?" he asked her.

Kelly noticed she had had a nightmare and fallen out of bed. She nodded and said, "Yeah. It was just a dream."

"D'you wanna talk about it?"

"No. I'll be down in a minute." She glanced at her alarm clock: 7:59 am. It switched to 8:00 and the alarm went off. Grateful her shift didn't start until 10:30, she turned off the alarm and got dressed. Her father was waiting for her when she walked down the stairs, pausing only to lightly touch Ashley's door at the stairs.

A/n: as you might have noticed, the description of Shooter is much more detailed than I ever get. That's because I borrowed it from the novella, exactly as it was written. I only did this because I hate Shooter with a passion and couldn't bring myself to think of him long enough to describe him. So, if you have issues with that... bite me.


End file.
